


A Beautiful Body

by HoodedAndromeda



Series: "Doctor Faustus" Modern AU [1]
Category: Doctor Faustus - Christopher Marlowe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Androgynous Mephistopheles, Body Appreciation, Body Exploration, Character Test, Drabble, Faustus (Mentioned), Gen, Mephistopheles' Human Body, Modern AU, Modern Doctor Faustus, One Shot, Short Mephistopheles, Small Mephistopheles, Writing Exercise, writing test
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 11:46:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17621804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoodedAndromeda/pseuds/HoodedAndromeda
Summary: He hadn't put any thought into his human shape—it had been like reaching into a lost and found box and pulling out a random assortment of clothes until he had formed a complete outfit. He recognized the shape and color of his eyes—but everything else was strange to him.





	A Beautiful Body

_"You're... shorter than I thought you would be."_  
  


The yellow eyes of Mephistopheles flicked curiously over his reflection in the floor length mirror of Faustus' bathroom. He hadn't put any thought into his human shape—it had been like reaching into a lost and found box and pulling out a random assortment of clothes until he had formed a complete outfit. He recognized the shape and color of his eyes—but everything else was strange to him. He brought his fingers—long, thin, and tipped with black nails— to his face and watched himself trace the shape of his skull beneath pale, smooth skin. His cheekbones were high and sharp, his eyes were deep-set, and his jawline was defined, yet delicate. The structure of his jaw paired with his bow shaped lips lent a sort of feminine quality to his face, which was only strengthened by the long, thick lashes of his hooded eyes.

He found himself running a knuckle carefully along the edges of his eyelashes, his skin prickling at the pleasant tickle. His hair, which was just as dark as his lashes, was slicked back greaser-style, apart from a few stray waves which hung in his face. He took one loose curl between his fingers and tugged at it gently. It was smooth, soft—nothing like the coarse wiry stuff that sprouted from his scalp in his true form. He glanced back at his face in the mirror, dropping his hand to his side. He forced himself to smile at his reflection, and the femininity in his face was immediately lost by the arch of his thick brows and the slant of his eyes. 

"Hallo," his voice sounded strange to him, smooth and soft, devoid of growling or reverb, "I'm Mephistopheles—" he had a lisp, of fucking course. It was hardly noticeable, something that would take a few conversations to catch, but he couldn't believe he wouldn't be able to say his own name properly in this shape, "Mephisto—fuck, _Meph_ —good to meet you." His teeth (which were the reason for his lisp), he was surprised to find, had hardly changed at all. Although they had become significantly whiter, they were still cruel points in his mouth, protruding from reddened gums and pricking unpleasantly at his soft lips. They, like his yellow irises, were the only noticeably inhuman elements of his new body. But somehow, he thought to himself, this form wore it well. And it didn't matter anyway. He wouldn't be doing much talking to any humans besides Faustus, so no one would notice. Plus, there was a pair of dark sunglasses hanging from the collar of his shirt which he could use to hide his eyes. Mephistopheles took a step back, now ready to examine his body. 

Faustus had been right. Mephistopheles was indeed short. Small, even. A demon's size was inconsistent, ever-changing, a shadow. But his human body stuck to one height. He had come up to about Faustus' shoulder, putting him somewhere between five-foot-six and five-foot-eight. But if he had been any taller, he would've looked disproportionate. His shoulders were broad, and his waist was small. Mephistopheles was a sort of V-shape, with spidery limbs. He was dressed in a form-fitting black tee-shirt which read STRAIGHT OUTTA HELL (ha ha) in bold white text and a worn black leather jacket. There was a pack of cigarettes in the breast pocket, and in the pocket of his distressed grey skinny jeans was a handful of starlight mints. His feet were clad in heavy combat boots which sported cherry-red laces. 

He gingerly tugged at the hem of his shirt, lifting it slightly. His stomach was flat and smooth, the same blueish white as the skin on his face and hands. He had a belly button despite having no mother. Taking care not to touch the scar, he ran his fingertips over the trail of dark hair on his belly, a welcome imperfection on his otherwise unmarked skin. Mephistopheles slipped off his jacket, letting it fall to the floor, and pulled his shirt off after it. He hissed as the sunglasses hanging from his collar scratched his nose. Once his shirt and the glasses had clattered to the floor, he turned back to his reflection. His arms, although long and thin, were well-muscled. He traced the paths of blue veins on his wrists and the insides of his forearms with fascination, shivering at the sensation that came with pressing on the branches with his black nails. His ribs were visible, too, and he pushed his fingers experimentally into the spaces between the bones. He ran flat palms along his chest, down his sides, up his abdomen, feeling wiry muscle, cool, smooth skin, and delicate bones. He counted every freckle on his shoulders and examined the patches of dark hair under his arms. 

Mephistopheles sat down on the edge of the tub and yanked off his boots and shimmied with some difficulty out of his pants, leaving him only in a pair of socks and boxer shorts. He stood before the mirror again, running his hands down his legs, feeling the shape of the muscles as he stared at his reflection with awe. He had a body. A body. A physical form with bones and hair and blood, that could feel hot and cold and hunger and thirst and pleasure and pain. 

For the first time in centuries, the monotony of his agony would be broken up by eating, drinking, sleeping. Such basic needs, functions that humans seemed to take for granted. He would feel something other than anguish. He would feel alive. It would never be Heaven, no, no amount of hard candy and cigarettes and cream soda and music and cinema and sex and laughter and crying and catnaps would ever, ever bring him close to Heaven again. He would never taste eternal bliss again. He would never see the face of his God again. But for these next twenty-four years... for the next blip in his tortured, never-ending existence... he could pretend. He had a body—a beautiful body—and he was going to use it for all it was worth. Mephistopheles ran his fingers over his bee-stung lips, looking at his own face through his heavy lashes, and this time, he didn't have to force a smile.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been planning on writing "Doctor Faustus" into a modern setting for a while now, and I thought it would be a good idea to just start with little character snippets. I hope you enjoy my Mephistopheles (or what's been seen of him so far). I'm very fond of him :)


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